‘‘He seems to have lost his way, and nothing I say or do seems to help. I worry about Ruth and the children. Bill’s hard on himself, but he’s hard on them, too.’’
‘‘Has he come up with any ideas for his future?’’ Matthew asked.
Fred shook his head. ‘‘I’ve attempted to include him in portions of the business where he could help, but he says he doesn’t need my pity. There’s no talking to him.’’
‘‘I think I may have come upon something that would interest him,’’ Matthew said. ‘‘I talked to an old friend who teaches at the Art Institute and explained a little about Bill and his work. They have an opening for an instructor who would work with both their architectural and art students. He thought Bill’s talents sounded like a perfect fit.’’ Matthew lifted Morgan down from his shoulders as they all gathered to fill their plates. ‘‘What do you think? Would he be interested?’’
‘‘He would be foolish to pass up such a wonderful prospect,’’ Mrs. DeVault said as she handed René a plate.
Fred shrugged. ‘‘Passing up the opportunity might be foolish, but that doesn’t guarantee he won’t do so. Like I said, he’s not himself, Mother.’’
‘‘Does your friend realize Bill’s limitations?’’ Olivia inquired.
‘‘Yes. I explained in detail, but he doesn’t believe it would hamper Bill’s ability to teach. However, much would depend upon what Bill thinks. If he isn’t enthusiastic and positive, he won’t win the confidence of his students. Much would depend upon his interview, I suspect.’’
Olivia picked up a sandwich and handed it to Fred. ‘‘I’m certain you can find the proper method to encourage him, Fred. You seem to have a knack for persuading others to search for employment.’’
‘‘Only when I deem it absolutely necessary.’’
Olivia refrained from saying anything further regarding their personal disagreement.
Fred turned to Matthew. ‘‘I’ll discuss this opportunity with Bill when I return to Chicago this evening. In fact, if you have time, perhaps we could return on the same train and you could come with me. You’d be better equipped to answer his questions.’’
When Matthew quickly agreed, Olivia leaned close to Fred. ‘‘You’re not planning an early departure, are you? I had hoped we could continue our conversation from before.’’
‘‘Have you decided what train you’ll be taking back to the city, Matthew?’’ Fred asked.
Matthew glanced at Charlotte. ‘‘The six o’clock. Charlotte doesn’t want to disrupt Morgan’s bedtime schedule.’’
Olivia was disappointed, even though she realized the job was an excellent opportunity for Bill.
‘‘I’ll do my best to come back during the week. And if you’re able to come to Chicago again, there may be time for a visit.’’
She pulled her lips into a narrow seam at his final remark and leaned close to whisper her response. ‘‘I told you Mr. Howard is unhappy with me. I doubt it would be wise to attempt another visit so soon.’’
As promised, Matthew accompanied Fred back to Locka-bee’s. It had taken Fred several attempts and a good fifteen minutes before Bill would even agree to meet Matthew. After crossing the first hurdle, Fred tentatively suggested Bill take a few minutes to prepare for the meeting. But when Bill walked downstairs to meet Matthew, his hair was unkempt and his face unshaven. He’d not even bothered to tuck in his wrinkled shirt. Fred inwardly cringed. It seemed Bill was intent upon self-defeat and failure. For the life of him, Fred couldn’t figure out how to reach the man. He hoped Matthew would find the words Bill needed to hear.
When Bill approached, Matthew stood and extended his hand. ‘‘I’m Matthew Clayborn.’’
‘‘I’m afraid I can’t properly shake hands.’’ With his left hand, he pointed at his injured right hand.
Fred cringed at Bill’s obvious attempt to embarrass Matthew. However, his friend appeared undeterred. ‘‘My apologies, Bill. Hope you don’t consider me thoughtless, but in my days of reporting I’ve come across a number of men with injuries such as your own. They simply offer the other hand.’’
Bill grunted. ‘‘Fred said you have some kind of job offer.’’
‘‘Oh, it’s not an offer, but there’s an opening at the Chicago Art Institute,’’ he said as they sat down. ‘‘Fred has told me about your talent, and I mentioned your name to the man in charge of a new program they’re developing.’’ Matthew explained the position more thoroughly, and as he talked, Bill began to ask questions.
Finally Matthew shook his head. ‘‘To tell you the truth, I’ve given you about as much information as I have about the job. However, I’m not certain you’re the right man for the position. They need someone with vision and excitement.’’
Matthew didn’t mince words. He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest, and told Bill why he would be a poor choice. Soon Bill was arguing and telling Matthew exactly why he’d be the perfect candidate for the position. With each volley, Bill fired back a response until Matthew finally called a truce. ‘‘Enough! I think you’ve finally convinced me you’re at least worthy of an interview, but you’ll have to give me your word you’ll improve your appearance.’’
‘‘You’ve got a deal,’’ Bill replied and extended his left hand.
A short time later Fred walked Matthew to the door. ‘‘I don’t know how you managed that, but I’m certainly thankful.’’
Matthew chuckled. ‘‘He isn’t my friend, so I didn’t have to worry about hurting his feelings. Since sympathy hadn’t been working for you, I figured I should attempt the opposite. I thought he’d walk out on me, but when he started to ask questions, I figured I’d won him over. I’ll let you know once his appointment is scheduled.’’
Chicago, Illinois
The next morning Charlotte had not yet entered the business district when broad fingers circled her wrist in a tight grasp. Startled, she turned and attempted to yank her arm away. She’d not even heard the sound of approaching footsteps. ‘‘Mr. Rehn-quist! What are you doing?’’ She twisted her arm, still trying to wrest it free.
‘‘Quit struggling, Miss Spencer. I won’t hurt you. I simply wish to have a talk about what you’ve done.’’
She took stock of her surroundings, wishing she had taken a carriage to work. There were few buildings on the street and only one was occupied; the rest were in dilapidated condition, obviously deserted by the owners. Vandals had broken windows, and likely the only inhabitants were occasional transients seeking a place out of the weather.
‘‘Please release my arm, Mr. Rehnquist.’’ Her heart thumped in an erratic cadence, but her tone had been forceful. ‘‘We have nothing to discuss.’’
‘‘Your arm will be bruised if you continue to fight against my hold, Miss Spencer. I will not release you until we have talked. I’ve waited all these days for this exact moment.’’
She frowned. ‘‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’’
‘‘A time when I could find you alone in a place where we wouldn’t attract attention, where we could discuss your behavior.’’
His stare was cold and aloof. If he’d hoped to frighten her, he’d succeeded, yet she dare not let him know. She steeled herself to remain calm.
‘‘I don’t believe there is anything we need to discuss, but say what you’ve come to say so that I may be off to work. If I’m late, there will be questions.’’
‘‘You’ve placed my position at Marshall Field and Company in jeopardy, Miss Spencer. You women want to have a man’s job, but the moment you can’t handle matters, you use your womanly wiles to aid your cause. I know you and your kind very well.’’
‘‘If your position is in jeopardy, it is of your own doing, not mine. Have you considered it is this same unsuitable behavior that is the cause of your undoing? Yet you make the situation worse by detaining me.’’ His menacing look was enough to send a shiver coursing through her body.
‘‘I want you to go to Mr. Field and tell him you misspoke and that everything you said about me was a lie.’’
‘‘I have never spoken to Mr. Field about your behavior. If he has discovered your shoddy actions, it has been through some other person.’’
Her response appeared to confuse him. A wagon appeared down the street, and Charlotte used the moment to advantage. Forcing her soprano voice to an ear-shattering pitch, she screamed for help. Startled, Mr. Rehnquist dropped his hold. Hiking her skirt above her ankles, Charlotte raced toward the wagon. The driver reined the horses to a stop, jumped from the wagon, and threw Mr. Rehnquist to the ground. He instructed Charlotte to retrieve rope from his wagon, and soon he’d hogtied Mr. Rehnquist and deposited him into the back of the wagon.
‘‘I’ll take him to the police station downtown, where my brother works. You can be sure they won’t turn him loose. You might have to come down and sign some papers or talk to my brother, but I doubt it. I’m an eyewitness to everything, so he’s sure to take my word that this fellow was holding you against your will.’’ He glanced at Charlotte’s wrist. ‘‘That’s likely going to turn black and blue come morning. It isn’t broken, is it?’’
‘‘I don’t think so.’’ She extended her arm and wiggled her wrist. ‘‘See?’’
He gave a firm nod. ‘‘Try putting some cold cloths on it soon as you can.’’
A short time later they arrived at Marshall Field’s, and he pulled the horses to a halt in front of the store. Charlotte offered her thanks and a promise to come to the police station if needed. Joseph greeted her with a quizzical look, but she offered him only a forced good morning. It was the best she could do.
Taking a deep breath, she hurried up to her office and sat down at her desk to gather her wits. The altercation with Mr. Rehnquist had rattled her, and there was only one thing to do. Though she disliked going to Mr. Field, she must. Mrs. Priddle had already involved him in the situation, and when Mr. Rehn-quist didn’t appear for work, there would be questions. And she certainly didn’t want Mrs. Priddle making another visit to the store when she learned of today’s incident with Mr. Rehnquist. Better to take care of the situation herself.
Mr. Sturgeon looked down his nose when she entered the office and appeared pleased to inform her that Mr. Field had a full schedule. The man’s behavior was tiresome. Palms flat on his desk, she met his cold stare. ‘‘You go in there and tell him I have a matter of urgency to discuss. We’ll then see if he has a few minutes in his schedule.’’
Mr. Sturgeon sniffed and slapped his pencil on the desk. He didn’t look at her when he returned to his desk. ‘‘You may go in.’’
Their meeting didn’t take long. Mr. Field expressed his regret and concern and said he would personally visit the police station to ensure all was in order. ‘‘I don’t want that man accosting you in the future. I treated him fairly and permitted him to remain on my staff, albeit in a different position. I knew he was unhappy that I transferred him to the warehouse store. Give this matter no further thought.’’
She thanked him for his promised help, but there would be no easy way to cast aside all thought of the assault. Her aching wrist was proof enough of that.
He walked around the desk and escorted her to the door. ‘‘You may trust that Mr. Rehnquist will never again accost you in any manner. He will be leaving the city once he is released from jail. You have my word.’’
Late Monday afternoon Matthew had appeared to announce he’d secured an appointment for Bill the following morning at nine o’clock. He’d encouraged Bill to make a good impression. Fred had been pleased when Bill arrived downstairs on Tuesday morning freshly shaved and wearing a suit and tie. He’d obviously taken Matthew’s advice to heart and hoped to secure the position.
Fred sent him on his way with a promise that he’d be praying all would go according to God’s plan for Bill’s life. Probably not the words Bill wanted to hear, for he continued to hold God accountable for his injury. Still, Fred had seen tremendous signs of progress with his friend over the past twenty-four hours. He prayed it would continue.
Fred looked up from his work when Ruth entered the shop early in the afternoon. ‘‘Still no sign of Bill?’’ she asked.
‘‘Not yet.’’ Fred continued to sift through several orders and jot notes, a job he usually completed late in the afternoon. He didn’t want to admit he’d moved to the front of the shop in order to speak with Bill the minute he returned.
‘‘I thought he’d be back before noon.’’ Ruth paced across the wood floor while gazing out the front windows. ‘‘You think something terrible has happened to him?’’
‘‘What could possibly happen, Ruth?’’
She folded her arms across her chest and stepped close to the counter. ‘‘The day he injured his arm I never considered anything could happen. I no longer make that assumption.’’
He observed the pain that shone in her eyes and immediately regretted his casual remark. ‘‘Interviews can take a long time, and there’s always the possibility he had to speak to more than one person. If so, he may have been required to wait.’’ Fred forced a smile. ‘‘Who knows? Maybe they took him to lunch at some fancy restaurant.’’
Ruth shook her head. ‘‘I doubt Bill would want to join them for a meal. He still has too much difficulty cutting his food and handling utensils. He’d be embarrassed and likely not order anything but coffee.’’
While they continued to discuss the possibilities, the door opened and Bill greeted the two of them. He carried a folder containing his drawings beneath his arm. ‘‘They liked these and said I had a natural gift,’’ he said, dropping the folder onto the counter. ‘‘I told them I’d produced the last of my designs when I’d been injured, so they’d see no more art from me.’’
‘‘They didn’t offer you the job?’’ Ruth asked.
Bill shook his head. ‘‘Quite the contrary. They said my art would continue so long as I was willing to teach others. They talked to me at length about their hopes to expand this new program at the institute.’’ He enthusiastically explained the details while Fred and Ruth listened. ‘‘They offered me the position, but there’s still one problem.’’
‘‘What’s that?’’ Fred asked.
‘‘I’m obligated to Mrs. Lockabee. Since Jacob’s death, she’s dependent on the money I pay her each month. I can’t cancel the contract unless I have someone willing to take over the business.’’